


HOPE

by Fann (Fan_Nehan_Shinzui34)



Category: DCU (Movies), Man of Steel (2013), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breeding, Dubious Consent, Implied Mpreg, Implied Relationships, Implied Unpleasantness, M/M, Mpreg, Post-Apocalyptic Baby Factory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_Nehan_Shinzui34/pseuds/Fann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He is imagining an island. An island far away, quiet and peaceful, his mother's voice soothing and near, her hand brushing the hair out of his face, resting her cool palm on his cheek."</p>
            </blockquote>





	HOPE

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: 6/15/13 So like, I literally just saw the movie today, and while I have no idea what this is about exactly or where exaclty it's going, as soon as I deduced that the point of all of this was that Clark clearly needed to start making babies, I knew. I knew that it must be done. And so....

He is imagining an island. An island far away, quiet and peaceful, his mother's voice soothing and near, her hand brushing the hair out of his face, resting her cool palm on his cheek.

A particularly hard thrust breaks him out of that for a moment, and his eyes snap open for a brief, terrifying, second, everything rushing in too fast for him to absorb, lights and sounds as overstimulating as if he were still a child. He surges forward out of instinct, feeling the almost forgotten urge to fight and strike back, but with a growl he is pressed backwards again, and he remembers. 

_Go back to the island, Clark._

He forces himself to relax again, to forget, but this time it is a much more difficult feat. 

The rapid brush and sound of skin on skin, the tight grip of fingers pressed inhumanly deep into his skin, the strained noises from above him, feel as if they are just tipping over the edge of too much. Clenching his fists, he tries to control his breathing before it begins to get out of control. If he can't go back to his island, perhaps he can focus on something, anything, besides what's happening above him. He centers on the ceiling, but that refuge is lost when he sees the reflection of the woman walking past in the other room on the too shiny surface. He forces what could of been a sob back down his throat. 

_Go back..._

It should've been over by now.

_Focus on me, Clark. Push everything out, and focus on my voice._

But he is speaking now, mumbling something, and he can't--

He can hear his mother's voice hushing him, and he finally lets himself return, just as he feels the warm slickness begin to spread inside him.

....

He wonders sometimes, just how far the woman's resentment goes. How much she actually begrudges him, the fact that she had turned out to be infertile. How she has been denied what she must deem a privilege, even if it meant being reduced to nothing but a brood mare to a man she hated for the rest of her days.

And of course, he wonders just what the two of them had been through together all alone, in that deep, black expanse, for her to glare at him the way she does. 

(And sometimes, before it happens, he catches the faint look of hurt on her face when her leader pushes her away.)

.....

He is thinking of an island. 

A quiet place he used to go for refuge and quiet on a planet that is now little more than a distant memory. There are little things he thinks of outside of this when he is around him. 

His mind is designed to be focused on the singular goal of preservation--including those suitable for breeding, their rate of survival--but sometimes he finds that his mind goes into temporary error, into retreat. 

It seems to be doing it a lot more now. And he can say with all honesty that he isn't quite sure what that means.

A sudden sound interrupts his thoughts, and he turns to see the other one stumble out of the other room, with what looks like the first smile he's seen on his face to date.

"It happened, Zod." his hair is wet and he is barely dressed, but the smile is spreading, getting happier. "It took."

He doesn't know what reaction to make. In all honesty, he had believed he had given up, but there is....a small--warmth, what feels like satisfaction growing inside of him. 

"That is...very good, Kal." he keeps his voice neutral, the same.

"Can't you hear him?" the other asks him, and reaches out and touches him, grabs his hand so that he can press it to his flat stomach. "That's our child. Our son."

And he can hear it now. The first stirring of his one true purpose, the only reason for his entire existence.

_Life._

His people.

 

....

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: 6/17/13 I'm not exaclty sure either, but these were my immediate thoughts after coming out of that damn theater. Maybe I'll make this longer, maybe I'll make some kind of continuation, but I felt like this needed to happen. Hate or love it, I'm down for some reviews or critiquing.


End file.
